


First Dates

by VenusianBouquet



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character(s) of Color, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, What are their gays like? these are the important questions, What does the average Wakandan think about what happened in the movie?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 12:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenusianBouquet/pseuds/VenusianBouquet
Summary: He isn’t dreading the date, exactly, but he always gets nervous before a first date; only more so now that he knows he'll be early. They had first messaged each other last week, and in the chaos of the past week, he assumed their plans were cancelled, but this morning, he got a message saying: ‘Are we still meeting today? We can always reschedule.’





	First Dates

**_Birnin Zana, Wakanda — 2016_ **

 

The city is golden in the evening sun. Nightlife slowly awakens as the sun begins to slumber, and the rails are full of people heading home or hitting the streets. It’s a normal enough night, or so it seems. Jongikhaya looks outside the window of the train car as it curves around the uptown pyramid, and he peers at the river even further beyond it to see the dragonfly-shaped security drones hovering over the wreckage of a warplane. Fidgeting with his beads, he looks to the view on the other side of the train, and then to his beads. A message lights up a newly-projected screen, from his date. _‘I apologize, but I may be a few minutes late.’_

_Great,_ Jongikhaya thinks to himself. He isn’t dreading the date, exactly, but he always gets nervous before a first date; only more so now that he knows he will be early. They had first messaged each other last week, and in the chaos of the past week, he assumed their plans were cancelled, but this morning, he got a message saying: _‘Are we still meeting today? We can always reschedule.’_

So here he is. He hasn’t heard of the restaurant they’re going to before, called Lechatla; it’s one of many near-rooftop restaurants, although this one is apparently known for having a particularly nice view of the city.

 Looking up, he enters the modestly-sized building. Several signs greet him inside and point him to different elevators, all of which seem to lead to different areas. Taking the one labeled _‘Lechatla,’_ he waits as the elevator goes up from the 1st floor all the way to the 34th. When he exits the elevator, a hostess asks his name and promptly escorts him to an empty table. It’s located near the outer wall of the restaurant, a near-transparent, undulating barrier that he knows is calibrated to keep any solid or liquid matter from entering or exiting. He looks around the rest of the restaurant. The seating is arranged in rows that curve around a wall at the back of the restaurant, marked with signs reading _GARDEN: STAFF ONLY._ Waiters swiftly enter and exit the frosted glass doors, with baskets and trays full of produce piled high on their heads.

It’s lit beautifully; the combination of the setting sun, the glittering city around them, and the small, jagged lines of amber in the rocky ceiling result in an environment that’s well-lit, but not harshly so. It’s gorgeous, and not too presumptuous, either; another date he’d been on had taken him to her family’s village near the border, which would’ve been perfectly fine, had it not been their very first date. 

 _So old-fashioned._ Shaking the thought of that particular disaster out of his head, he briefly brings up a mirror from his beads for a last minute check. His hair is cut well — it’s at the perfect stage of growth between ‘fuzz’ and ‘stubble’ — and his ochre shirt is loose and tight in all the right places, exposing his shoulders and wrapped snugly against his biceps. He even notices that the lighting is in his favor, too; it catches the opaque layer of ojitze he’d applied over his neck and shoulders rather strikingly.  Having looked to his satisfaction, there’s nothing left to do but wait. He collapses the mirror and checks the time; 18:45.

In what seems like an few endless minutes later, approaching footsteps catch his attention; his date has arrived. The man is dressed nicely, and Jongikhaya is happy to note that; not only was he not too late, but the holopic included in his dating profile did not do him enough justice.

That he is from the River Tribe could not be more obvious; dressed almost stereotypically in a dark green, with matching plates in stretched lobes. His hair is healthy and loc’d on the middle of his head, tied back in a messy sort of bun. His hair on the sides, however, is shaved close to the scalp in an elaborate design. Pronounced cheekbones and a squarish jaw complete the picture. The man stops and stares at him too, evaluating Jongikhaya’s evaluation of him.

A smile breaks across Jongikhaya’s face. “I assume you are Luyolo?” He stands from the table and gives the other man a polite hug, not too long or too short.

“Yes, and you must be Jongikhaya.” His voice is as deep and warm as it was the first time he heard it over the beads.

Jongki feels his cheeks warm. He can only pray his date doesn’t notice. “Indeed. But please, call me Jongki; everyone does.” His own voice wavers, and he could curse it for its betrayal. Luckily for him, his date doesn’t seem to notice that either.

“Only if you call me Luyi,” he says, all bright smiles and puffy, crescent moon-shaped eyes. _He has a little gap in his front teeth — I could end myself right here.  
_

“Luyi it is.” While both settle into their respective seats, menus coalesce from the rippling material of the table. Perusing the vegetarian options, Jongki takes another opportunity to look over at the orchard on the other side of the dining area. The opacity of the wall offers a hint of lush greenery behind the close doors, and the ingredients carried out look to be of high quality.

Looking back at the menu, he almost can’t read it. He looks at the man in front of him again. _He is so beautiful, it’s distracting._ Shaking his head, Jongki resolves to make conversation. _He is only a man._ “I take it you have been here before? I don’t know what to get, if I am honest, and I could use the suggestions.”

Luyi chuckles, and Jongki’s cheeks still feel like flames. _Is everything about this man made to personally disarm me?_ “If I remember correctly, you are vegetarian, yes?” When Jongki nods, the other man speaks assuredly. “I would try any of the fruit dishes. There is one specifically that I think you would like — they take the shell of a watermelon and slice the fruit in such a way as to make a mosaic of sliced fruit that fits inside the melon better than the actual watermelon ever did — I swear by it. It is flavored well, and arranged to be _almost_ as beautiful as you.”

His eyes are searching his, mischievous and sultry. Jongki can _almost_ hold in his laughter.

It’s not an unkind laugh, though, and judging by the smirk he receives from Luyi, he knows it too. It is only a moment later that Jongki searches for the dish and makes his decision; he keeps his finger inside the holographic label until he feels the haptics pulsate around his it in confirmation. Having achieved its purpose, the menu spills back onto the table, leaving behind a slight ripple in the surface. Jongki finds himself alternating between looking at his date and looking at the table.

He feels his cheeks start to hurt with how much they’ve been through in such a short time, and yet he cannot drop his smile completely. “So, flatterer, what did you order?”

Luyi smiles warmly again. _Surely I can’t take much more of this. How is it possible for one man to be so handsome and cute?_ “I am feeling a little, extravagant, today, shall we say. I usually order the moth soup, but today I ordered a steak with blood juice, and ugali.”

His smile must have dropped, because Luyi chuckles at whatever face he’s made. Jongki shakes his head quite seriously. “I am sorry, Luyolo, but I do not think this will work out. I cannot go out with a man who would drink the blood of an animal.” At this, Luyi frowns. Jongki moves to get up, his mercurial mouth betraying him even as he halts his movement. Luyi’s face completely changes as it splits open into a laugh, slightly louder than his others so far. A heady feeling of triumph rushes through Jongki for having made such a beautiful man laugh so hard.

“Ah, so you are more of a joker than I thought. You looked so serious in your holopic, and here I find out I have gone on a date with a clown.”

Jongki laughs again. A breeze ruffles the sleeves of his shirt and roams over his exposed skin. The sun has set over Wakanda, and yet it still illuminates the sky above the mountains that it hides behind. Lights glitter in the city, and the scent of the greenery around them mixes with the scent of the sky and the scent of earthy otjize. The ojitze, in particular, serves to calm any anxiety he has left.

“I am afraid I have something to confess, Jongikhaya.” 

 _What?_ His heart leaps up inside his throat, although the feeling is controlled by the knowledge that it is probably another joke. “Yes, Luyi? Are you confessing that your beauty is merely a facade, and that you are a beast sent to kidnap me?”

Luyi snorts, and he says, “I must confess that I have lied to you in a way, yes; you see, I only _look_ interesting. I am actually quite boring.”

Jongki laughs as well, leaning forward slightly. He feels a coy smirk form on his face almost automatically. “We can talk about anything you’d like, Luyi. You have a very attractive presence. You could talk to me about the migration patterns of the rhinos, and I would probably be riveted.”

Luyi’s eyebrows raise, and the incredulousness on his face makes Jongki smile even wider. “I’ll remember that. I only have one issue with that: an attractive presence? Is that what the young people call it these days? No handsome? No pretty? Not even a charismatic?”

“You are only three years older than me; quit playing!” Jongki laughs. Considering his date’s words, he pauses to consider before continuing. “In all seriousness though, Mister Charisma, you can talk about whatever you would like. The point of this date is to get to know each other, is it not?”

Luyolo’s smile changes, now mischievous. “Alright, I’ll go with the boring _political_ questions.” At this, Jongki cannot help but let out a tired chuckle. It’s all anyone can talk about these days — his own mother had frantically called him the day before, her face appearing from the kimoyo beads almost immediately after he had answered, wondering if he was safe, if he had seen the ships shot down — it was quite the commotion, to say the least.

“What do you think of everything that’s happened in the past two weeks? Father T’Chaka’s death? King T’Challa’s coronation? The new king? The coup? King T’Challa’s second coronation? His decisions?” Luyolo’s smile only ramps up as he punctuates each option with a different one.

Jongikhaya rolls his eyes. Luyi doesn’t even need to say what _decisions,_ because it’s all anyone’s been able to talk about too. Jongki cannot help but sigh loudly. “More has happened in the past week than has ever happened before in the history of Wakanda; I’m convinced of that, with the way everyone is talking about it. Especially that last one.”

His date gestures wildly at the expanse of Birnin Zana spread out around them, and the mountains and the lakes beyond it, and his voice is passionate. “I’d agree with them! It’s one of the things we’re first taught in school! Algebra, the basics of the applied sciences, the history of the Five Tribes, and — ah, yes! — the Europeans had gone mad with delusions of power, and the tribes were right to shield Wakanda from the madness in any way they could.”

At this, Jongki cannot help but chew his lip. “I am… nervous about it too. My mother says some people in the village are talking about striking.”

Luyolo’s eyebrows raise considerably, having already inferred from the red color-scheme that he was from the Mining Tribe. “But that would make everything so much worse — surely the miners wouldn’t do that?”

“I don’t think they will either; people see the need to present a unified Wakanda, because no one wants our first real worldwide appearance to be one of internal strife and conflict; any disruption in mining would make that even worse. But I cannot help but wonder…” He bites his lip, and he finds himself surprised at his own contemplation of the topic; he’s never given it this amount of thought since he first learned of it in secondary school. “We know that people… like us? Those with our features. They were and _are_ treated terribly by the colonizers, old and new. And not just abroad, but on the continent too. But… well, should we have helped earlier? Who should we help? The world, including those that continue to exploit this continent, or our people exclusively?”

Guilt creeps into his veins. “African people suffering all over the world for the crime of stealing themselves back from the colonizers, that we could have and should have helped. Why didn’t we? Why don’t we talk about it more? It’s the rhino in the room, and we don’t even think about it.”

Luyolo presses his wrist to the table, and another menu coalesces out of the miniscule particles, flickering as he flips through to a different section. Jongki can only give a half-hearted exhale of a laugh when he reads the words backwards and makes out a selection of alcohols. Luyi waves his hand a second later, collapsing the unused menu. 

 _What a cheerful turn this has taken._ He clears his throat. “What matters is that we’re doing something now, I suppose. What about you? What do you think?”

Luyi’s answer is stopped only by their waitress, a woman so white he almost does a double-take. Not that he does — _how rude would that be, and for a condition as common as hers, you should be ashamed!_ — but still, the lightness of her skin is a surprise, as is the soft yellow of her braids, traveling over her shoulders and down to her waist the way they do. All of this is offset by the green of the cloth around her head, the black of her uniform, the black material of the tray on her head and the soft jade in her ears. She speaks as she sets their food in front of them. “I have a Mosaic Melon Salad for the red gentleman, and a blood steak and ugali for my friend, correct?”

Jongikhaya bows his head at her in thanks, and he sees Luyi bring his hands together as well. “Yes, and if I could get some ginger beer?” the waitress nods. “Thank you, Pholi. Message me tomorrow, yeah? It’s been a while.”

At this, the mask of professionalism is let down slightly. She pats his cheek and says, teasingly, “I will, Mwezi.” She smirks in Jongki’s direction, and he responds with a smile of his own. Luyi sucks his teeth. She waves in Jongki’s direction before walking away and disappearing into the orchard.

“Mwezi?” Jongki can’t help the smile that comes to his face. _It’s cute!_ He says as much to Luyi, who’s still shaking his head.

He dodges the implied question with ease, not that it goes unnoticed by Jongki. The seriousness of the previous conversation, interrupted cleanly by the waitress and their food, slowly drips back into their heads as they wait for the utensils to finish forming on top of the table. “As I was going to say before we were interrupted––“ he interrupts himself with a sharp look to the garden, as if the frosted glass would part to reveal the waitress in the trees “––I think it’s high time that Wakanda help the other people on this continent, if not the global population of Africans. With all that said though, I am… nervous for what Wakanda will look like. Our ways of life will change, but… I can’t help but think it will be a breath of fresh air in certain ways. I know some of my friends are excited at the prospect of being able to travel to the oceans more freely, at least. And helping people is always good, eh?”

Jongki hums and finishes his sip of water before he speaks. “Oh, that’s true! We’ll have much greater access to mineral samples not found here, which would really be cool! I bet we could make so many paints, too — and maybe we could even travel abroad without having to surpass so many bureaucratic obstacles — never mind everything I said before, I am convinced!”

His mind reels. It’s not that he has ever felt stifled despite the isolationism Wakanda has always favored; he’s never felt anything about it either way. But… he would be lying if he said the possibilities didn’t excite him. Luyi, he notices, hasn’t even touched his food yet — he is too busy staring. “What,” Jongki asks, only a little defensive.

Luyi smirks. “You are very cute when you’re excited.”

His cheeks start to hurt again as they heat up, and he can’t help but look down at his food. As he thinks of what to say, he picks up a piece of fruit fit snugly to the watermelon rind, colored a vibrant yellow-orange. The texture is soft, with enough give for his fingers to almost drop it. Surely it is mango; the scent in his nose tells him it is. He bites, and hybrid flavor of mango and peach seems to burst inside his mouth. “Oh! How do they do that?” he asks, eyes wide.

The other man is sipping from his cup, the contents of which make Jongki slightly nauseous. Luyolo speaks as he puts it down. “The fruits are arranged and then they sit for a time before every piece is rearranged and served. They are given time to mix together in often delicious ways.” Jongki picks another piece; pulp of medlar. The crisp flavor is expected, but the sheer sweetness of the fruit itself is not.

 Amidst his surprise, he recalls, distantly, what they had been discussing. “Before I got, ah, carried away, we were discussing politics.” Luyi waves his hand, a motion that says _‘it’s fine.’_ “I think revealing ourselves to the world is a good thing, overall, but…” here, his smile drops slightly. “It will obviously have very real consequences for us and our people too; that can’t be ignored. After all, anyone unsatisfied with our king’s decision has no other choice but to accept it. There’s nowhere else to go, no other country shielded the way Wakanda is. What we offer cannot be found anywhere else on the planet. Which is obviously why we are needed, but…"

Luyi cuts another piece of his steak and nods thoughtfully. “We’re the only example we have of our way of life, and there is anxiety about the preservation of it.” Jongki nods rapidly. Luyi chews his piece, and continues. “I don’t know if I mentioned this on my profile or not — I think I did, yes? — but I study political science up at Crown’s.” At Jongki’s nod, he continues. “For so long, everyone was convinced that Wakanda would remain hidden until others had the technology to see us no matter what we did; now, they’re eating their words. No one ever thought the Black Panther would be the one to expose us. Because that’s what it is, at the end of the day: an exposure.”  
 

His voice is … different. The warmth that’s permeated it for most of tonight is dimmed with something Jongki thinks is obvious displeasure. He takes the time to swallow the piece of fruit in his mouth before he speaks. “It’s not as though we were caught in the jaws of the crocodile, though. We are coming from a place of power, whether the world accepts it or not. King T’Challa, more than anyone else, knows this. It is why he made that announcement. It must be.”

“That’s true, Jongki, but it defies so much of our history. Killmonger; he did to us what the United States does to everyone else, destabilizing the country in favor of those abroad. And if King T’Challa can surprise us in this way, revealing us to the world, I hesitate to think in what other ways he could surprise us.” Luyi takes a sip from his cup, and then says, “Not to mention, we’ll actually have to bother with maintaining embassies and such.”

Jongki scoffs. Popping another piece of medlar into his mouth, he chews it before continuing. “Ki… King N’Jadaka,” he pauses, considering his words. “N’Jadaka plunged this country into a civil war. For only a day, at most, but… regardless, I doubt King T’Challa would deliberately lead us on a similar path. I trust the Black Panther.” He chews another piece of his salad thoughtfully, noting the sweetness and the bitterness rolling on his tongue. “As for the acceptance of refugees, think of how cool all the new food could be! Imported stuff will be easier to get, too.”

The other man chews his steak thoughtfully. “True. I’ve always wanted to try Middle Eastern food, now that I think about it…” his sentence trails off briefly before he shakes his head. “Regardless, I simply think we should be careful. We should remember why we hid ourselves in the first place.” Jongki hums. The next piece of fruit he eats is thin, almost papery, stuck right at the edge of the rind. His tongue processes sweetness. Coconut.

The flavor passes quickly, and he doesn’t reach for another fruit just yet. His mind is now drifting over the glittering city. The mountains are almost black against the low lavender sky, and the city is a constellation. The river reflects it all beautifully. He can even make out the climbing gardens near his house. He absently plays with his beads. “Our quality of life, our technology… we could really help so many people.”

He and Luyi make eye contact, and they both break at the same time, laughing quietly. “Look at us, so serious. It’s because I insisted on politics as a topic of choice, isn’t it?”

Genuine nerves flash on Luyi’s face, and Jongki likes him more for it. “It’s not a bad thing! I see things differently than I did yesterday, or even hours ago, and that is because of you! Trust me—” he reaches out to touch Luyi’s hand— “It was interesting. I’m having fun. If you want to talk about something else, we could just ask each other questions.”

Luyi’s eyes draw from Jongki’s face to Jongki’s hand on his. “Alright,” he says, grabbing his hand more purposefully. “I want to go first. What’s your favorite color?"

His eyes roll, even as he smiles around another piece of umqokolo fruit. “Really? I would say… the color of ojitze, as stereotypical as that is. Yours?”

His eyes rove over Jongki’s neck and shoulders blatantly. “Interestingly enough, I like ojitze’s color too.” Luyi says.

Jongki laughs. He sucks the fruit’s bitter juice from his fingers, and he doesn’t miss the way his partner’s eyes flicker to his mouth too. He tries to keep the smugness out of his voice. “My turn: you never said what ‘Mwezi’ was from. Why did… Pholi?”

 “Pholi. Her name is Pholile.”

“Thank you — Pholile. Why is it that she called you Mwezi?”

Luyi sighs. “Another name. Mzweleni; ‘have mercy on him.’” Jongki tilts his head, and at this, Luyi sighs again, though his mouth forms a small smile this time. He lets go of Jongki’s hand to gesture towards the interior garden. “It sounds more serious than it is, I promise; Pholi and I have known each other since Secondary school. There I am, twelve years old; it’s my first day of secondary. I hadn’t eaten breakfast in my nervousness, and I was so excited and eager to impress my class. It was all I could think about. Well,” and at this, he lets out another chuckle, “when it was time to introduce myself, I sat up so swiftly that my chair fell backwards. When I bent down to pick it up, I got dizzy and _I_ fell down and hit my head on the desk.” Jongki snorts as Luyi continues, not even waiting for him to be done laughing. “To make it worse––“

Jongki’s jaw drops in a gasp, his smile persisting despite himself. “Worse?” he exclaims.

His hands gesture to the tables around them. “When I tried getting up again, I was so dizzy that I fell _again_. Our teacher didn’t have to think very hard to give me the name,” Luyi says. His embarrassment is as funny as it is endearing, and Jongki finds himself overcome with bubbling laughter, and before long, the other man joins too.

Already, the sound of Luyi’s laugh is one he knows he can never hear enough of. Luyi’s eyes are closed moons, and the lights around them paint his skin in warmth. Laughing with him is as easy as breathing.

“I’m sorry I laughed, but,” Jongki says amidst his giggles, “it’s a funny story. Your head seems okay now though, eh?” Luyi sucks his teeth again.

The rest of the evening is spent like this; poking and prodding at each other while laughing with each other. Luyi is smart, and he has an opinion about everything under the sun. They discuss more politics; nothing is off limits, which is so different than other first dates Jongikhaya’s been on. It’s refreshing.

As they eat their food and enjoy each other’s company, the glances between them only get longer. In what seems like no time at all, their food is gone. Jongki finds himself with another type of appetite he has to suppress. Even though he doesn’t think he has to, he glances down at his lap to soothe his nerves. Satisfied that there’s nothing to see, he starts to finish his glass of water as he stands up.

Luyolo almost trips when he gets up, which sends a snort through Jongki’s nose even as he grabs his arm to balance him. When they start making their way towards the exit, he tries to consider everything but the man walking ahead of him. The way the lights on the ceiling mimic veins of ore; the way Luyi is taller than him, and how much more noticeable it is now that they’re standing up; the lush, green scent of the garden as they pass its doors; how amazingly Luyi’s pants fit him… _Gods_. Jongki wrenches his eyes away. He looks instead to the rondavel of a building near to this one, brown on blue solar-paneled walls.

As they approach, the hostess holds the scanning device to their beads, and the console next to her beeps positively. The elevator opens to receive them, and the ride down to the streets is spent in silence. Jongki is incredibly aware of himself in the confined space. Nervousness strikes him for the first time in what feels like forever.

The nervousness is dispelled all too easily when, upon exiting into the warmth of the night, Luyi slots their hands together. At Jongki’s glance, he says, “I wouldn’t want to lose you on the way to our destination.”

He raises his eyebrows, and his mouth settles into a smirk. “Oh? and what destination are you taking me to?”

Luyolo steps towards him, enough that Jongikhaya has to look up at him. He slots their lips together; Jongki feels his chin being held in place almost possessively. He feels like someone ran water from a Jabariland hot spring down his spine. He feels like any sort of breeze would send him away in the wind, were the warm points of contact between him and Luyi — their held hands and soft lips — not anchoring him to the spot.

His partner’s voice is low in his ear after they part. “I was hoping I could, ah, invite you over to my apartment.” He feels everything get hotter, which he didn’t think was possible. He must have stilled, because Luyi’s wide eyes meet his for a moment before he rapidly steps back. “Ah — I must have misread––“

Jongki corrects this mistake at once, chasing his lips to meet them again. He smiles into it, endeared by Luyi’s nervousness. “You did not, I _promise_ you. I do want to. Gods know that.” He chuckles. “Just not right now, not because of anything you did or didn’t do. I prefer to take things a bit slower than most, that’s all.”

Luyi nods, swinging their held hands with a small smile on his face. “I’ll still walk you home, though. I don’t want to leave you before we plan our next date.”

 His cheeks feel like they’re about to split open, and he has to look away from the man in front of him. The time displayed on his beads is 20:01. The monorail zips by above them. “Damn. I’ll have to wait for the next one,” he chuckles lamely. When he brings his eyes away from the train, he only sees Luyi staring at him with a smile. It makes him less nervous and yet more nervous all at once. “What?” 

His hand warm around Jongki’s, Luyi simply shakes his head as they begin walking to the monorail station. There are still signs of unease throughout the city— mainly the dragonflies flying lower than usual and higher in number — but there are signs of recovery too. Gqom music pulses faintly in the distance, and there are other people out on the streets: couples walking intwined in each other, groups of friends heading out to a club, families on their way home with sleeping children strapped to them.

Neither of the men can notice any of it, enamored as they are. Nothing else seems to matter.

**Author's Note:**

> This was just me scratching an itch, honestly -- I needed gays in the movie, and I wanted to delve into the perspective of someone who lives in Wakanda as a normal person like any other, and not as a superhero or mutant or avenger or what have you. What would they think of the coup? The death of T'Chaka, who ruled for many years and is mourned by his people, not just his family? What would they think of their exposure to the world?
> 
> I'll definitely do more, with other Wakandans. It's fun to think about what they would see as normal and what would seem absolutely foreign to them, and it's fun to fantasize about what their society would be like at an everyday level.
> 
> Tell me if you guys liked it!


End file.
